Chapter 51: Enemies Are Measured Only by Life or Death

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A few days before the betrayal at the Strait of Lys, outside the outer walls of Bandy Town.

CRUNCH! CRUNCH! CRUNCH!

Seven hundred Unsullied marched in neat columns through the gates of Bandy Town's outer city.

Inside the gates, a group of Myrish officers, accompanied by over a hundred armed slave-soldiers, had already laid down their weapons. With their heads bowed, they knelt humbly on the ground, offering no resistance.

Behind them, thousands of slaves lined both sides of the main street, kneeling in silent submission. Their faces were marked with fear, reverence, and uncertainty.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from above.

CLANG!

A Roar followed.

Vermax, the emerald-green dragon, descended with tremendous force onto Bandy Town's city wall. The sheer weight of the beast crushed the stone beneath its claws, sending shards of rock tumbling down the wall's face.

The thunderous landing sent a ripple of panic through the crowd below. Cries of alarm erupted, and many slaves dropped flat on the ground, covering their heads, not daring to so much as lift their eyes.

Clad in ornate dragon armor emblazoned with the sigils of House Targaryen, Jacaerys dismounted from Vermax. With a composed demeanor, he descended the narrow staircase that wound down from the battlements.

Waiting for him at the base were Stone, Rudy, Coleman, and several others, who immediately fell into formation behind him, forming a vigilant escort as he moved forward.

His growing notoriety was proving to be a double-edged sword.

Although it had cost him the opportunity to harvest more system trait points, it had also saved him the trouble of bloody conquest. Many towns, terrified by his growing reputation, had chosen to surrender without a fight.

Jacaerys had anticipated resistance on this sizable island near Tyrosh, a place known for its strategic importance as a granary. To prepare, he had brought newly refined wildfire oil, ready for siege.

Yet the moment his fleet landed and Vermax soared across the skies, Bandy Town raised rows of white banners in surrender. The city gates had opened from within, without need for threats or negotiation.

With the town fated to become part of his domain, there was no need to drench it in dragonfire. Needless destruction would bring nothing but his own loss.

Summoning a Myrish officer at random, Jacaerys questioned him about their swift surrender—and the man answered with weary resignation.

The entirety of Bandy Town's wealth and grain stores had already been seized and taken away by Archon Pachek. With the sea route back to Myr now cut off, most high-ranking officers and affluent merchants had fled to Tyrosh. Those who remained were the forsaken—men without titles, wealth, or influence, abandoned by their superiors.

The slaves left behind were either elderly or children, people who held little strength and even less value.

Upon hearing this, Jacaerys felt a deep sense of hollowness.

This vast Bandy Isle offered little in the way of trait points, and neither treasure nor provisions remained to be claimed.

Turning to his subordinates, he instructed them to make preparations for departure to Tyrosh by the following morning. With that order given, he continued on toward the inner city.

Tyrosh was his next target.

As the orchestrators behind the Bloodstone assassination attempt, the Tyroshi owed him a long-standing blood debt.

Over the past two to three months, Jacaerys had quietly driven wedges between Tyrosh and its supposed allies, Lys and Myr. Tensions that had once simmered beneath the surface were now in plain sight.

Although he had not voiced it openly to Stone or Rudy the day before, he had long suspected the truth behind what was to come.

If the Bloodstone fleet failed to appear at the Strait of Lys, there was a high likelihood—perhaps eight or nine out of ten—that Lys, Myr, and even Volantis would turn on Tyrosh.

They would move to eliminate the one remaining victor among the Kingdom of the Three Daughters and use its land and riches as bargaining chips to secure an alliance with Volantis, uniting together in opposition to Jacaerys.

It was the most pragmatic strategy Lys and Myr could pursue if they hoped to survive the war.

Of course, in theory, they could have chosen to ally with Jacaerys instead, joining forces against Volantis. But given his infamous reputation and foreign origin from Westeros, such a path was unlikely. Trust, after all, was a rare and fragile thing.

"Kill!"

"Kill the demon!"

"Save the souls of our loved ones!"

Suddenly, frantic cries erupted from nearby.

Jacaerys, lost in thought, was jolted back to the present.

He turned just in time to see over a hundred slaves rising to their feet, brandishing daggers and short blades. With reckless desperation, they surged forward, attempting to break through the Unsullied ranks in a bold bid to assassinate him.

CLANG! CLANG!

The Unsullied, executing their orders without hesitation, instantly formed a defensive wall. With their long spears braced behind their shields, they thrust forward in perfect unison, each movement precise and deadly.

THUD! THUD!

The spearpoints struck like vipers, swift and merciless. The front ranks of the charging slaves collapsed one after another, blood spurting from torn flesh as they crumpled to the earth, screaming in agony.

WOOSH! WOOSH!

From above, Vermax launched into a sudden glide.

The great dragon dove from the city wall, descending upon the would-be assassins who had nearly reached their target. Its enormous frame tore through them like a scythe sweeping across a field of wheat.

CRACK! SQUISH!

More than a dozen were crushed into pulp beneath its limbs. But the force of the dive was too great to stop. Vermax, unable to halt his momentum, crashed into a nearby group of trembling, unarmed slaves.

With a single bound and landing, the beast carved a gory path through the crowd. Flesh and bone churned beneath its claws, and blood pooled into a trail of death behind it.

"Unsullied, halt your assault!"

Jacaerys gave the order with a sharp look, and Rudy bellowed the command without delay. In moments, the Unsullied froze in place, ending their strikes after having already slain nearly twenty of the attackers.

Although the soldiers stopped, Vermax did not.

To a dragon, every part of its body was a weapon. Against ordinary humans, especially the elderly, the young, and the weak, there was no defense and no escape.

Severed limbs flew through the air. Blood and mangled flesh began to coat the ground surrounding the dragon, forming a macabre red carpet at its feet.

Suddenly, from amidst the halted Unsullied ranks, a boy of no more than eight or nine slipped through the legs of the unmoving soldiers.

With a wild, desperate cry, he raised a crude dagger high above his head and charged straight toward Jacaerys, his voice shrill with hatred and desperation.

But before he could get far, a large hand shot out.

SMACK!

Stone stepped forward swiftly, gripping the child's wrist and halting his strike mid-motion. The boy's momentum stopped in an instant, and Stone lifted him into the air with a single arm, holding him aloft as if he weighed nothing.

The boy writhed and kicked, screaming incoherently in guttural Low Valyrian. Tears and spittle flew as he shrieked curses and oaths.

Jacaerys turned his head slightly toward Coleman, his tone calm and inquisitive.

"What is he saying?"

Coleman hesitated for the briefest moment before bowing his head and replying respectfully, "Your Grace… He speaks many words of insult and disrespect. But in short, he claims he seeks vengeance for kin lost in the slaughter at Pyr Town."

Oh? So the seeds of hatred sown at Pyr had begun to bear their bitter fruit?

Jacaerys narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze sweeping the blood-soaked square where the assassins had all but perished under his dragon's fury.

A flicker of surprise lit within him. Not fear or guilt, but a detached sense of curiosity. This, at least, was unexpected.

While Jacaerys and Coleman spoke, Stone examined the boy's dagger with growing suspicion. A faint grayish sheen coated its blade. His brows furrowed, and with a soldier's instinct, he prepared to silence the child permanently.

"Stone, halt. Let him go."

Jacaerys' voice was clear and calm, but carried the weight of command.

Stone blinked, momentarily confused by the unexpected order. His lips parted, as if to protest, but loyalty triumphed over doubt. Without another word, he obeyed.

With a sudden, rough motion, Stone hurled the disarmed boy across the square, casting him like a sack of grain onto the stone-paved ground.

The child grunted upon impact, but quickly forced himself upright. Blood trickled from his nose, and fury burned in his tear-filled eyes as he screamed more vile curses at Jacaerys. His face twisted with hatred far too intense for someone so young.

THUMP! CRACK...

A sharp sound tore through the air as a sleek, shadowy blur lashed across the boy's path. The massive emerald tail of Vermax, its scales arranged like sculpted jade armor, swung with the power of a battering ram.

The blow struck the child with brutal force, hurling his small frame backward through the air.

He crashed against a nearby wall nearly nine meters away, then slumped lifelessly to the ground, leaving behind a faint red smear on the stone.

His chest had caved in from the impact. There was no need to check for breath. He was already gone.

[Trait Point +10]

In the eyes of Jacaerys, an enemy was not defined by age, gender, or condition. Only by whether they lived or died.

His gaze swept across the cowering slaves who lay prone around him, their foreheads pressed to the bloodstained ground, too frightened to even breathe too loudly. His voice cut through the silence, resolute and cold.

"I've changed my mind."

He turned toward Rudy and Coleman.

"You two will oversee the loading of all remaining slaves onto the warships. We sailed for Tyrosh immediately."

"Yes, Your Grace," both men responded in unison, voices unwavering.

That very afternoon, the Bloodstone fleet, now brimming with human cargo and military might, departed the shores of Bandy Island.

Its destination lay only two days' sail away—Tyrosh, the next theater of war in Jacaerys' ever-burning conquest.

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